Sweet Dreams
by LordGrimwing
Summary: Three months since that night when the children played games at Primling Grove. There's no leads, no clues. The case is cold. And the people who could know something important aren't interested in sharing. Ambulon meets Tumbler in Primling Grove. Sequel to Spark from the Smelter


It was quite in Primling Grove. No longer should the happy shouts of children be heard. No longer was the air filled with their young voices. No longer. No longer did parents let their beloved younglings out of sight. No longer did they say "Have fun. I see you later!" No longer. No longer were night games allowed.

It was quiet and still in Primling Grove. The manicured lawns glinted in the midday sun light. Mechanimals could be heard among the flora. The setting was peaceful . . . to any who didn't know what'd happened.

Three months. Three months since that fateful night when creators let their younglings stay out late and play games at Primling Grove. Three months, two weeks, since the community found out what happened. Three months, two weeks, and a day, since they'd seen the happy faces of their creations. Three months, two weeks, one day, and a hour, of not knowing. Not knowing _why_.

The enforcers had been diligent in the search for the monster who'd robbed the community of safety, of peace. But despite their efforts, no clues were uncovered after the initial findings. There was no forensic evidence to use. There was no murder weapon, no paint flecks, no EMF prints, no brain module. Whoever had done this knew exactly what mechaforensics would and could search for. Whoever it was even knew they had mnemosurgeon on the team. Of course, the enforcer didn't tell the citizens this. No need for the distraught creators to think the murderer was a enforcer.

So, for months, the silence continued in Primling Grove. No one wanted to go back there.

A lone mech sat on a bench, his shoulders hunched, helm bowed. His lean frame looked tired, worn down, but then, trying to find a mass murderer who somehow knows every move that will be made is taxing work. The mechaforensics agent stared at the ground. His peds rested on a crystal that not long ago had supported the sparkless frame of a femling. He rested on a bench that once held a mechling, barely out of sparklinghood, who could have been recharging if it wasn't for the gash through his helm.

With a flench, the mech tried to push the memories away. The scene had been gruesome enough the first time he'd seen it. More so in the nightmares that followed. He didn't need to relive it in his waking hours too.

The sound of ped steps. The mech looked up. Approaching him was the very reason he was her. The mech stood.

"Good day Tumbler." He greeted, voice stronger than he felt.

"How are you Ambulon?" The other mechsforensics agent asked, getting right to the reason for them meeting today. It wasn't that he and the medical examiner didn't get along-quite the opposite in fact-but, things had been strained between them as of late.

Ambulon looked away. "The dreams are back." It was hard to admit it, even to a friend.

The frills on the sides of Tumbler's helm drooped slightly. "How bad?" He lay a narrow servo gently on his friend's shoulder. "Tell me how bad they are. Scale of one to ten." It wasn't that he cared about actually having 'sweet' dreams, but his friend having nightmares was a whole different question.

Ambulon gulped. "Nine-nine and a half." So close to a ten, but not quite. He could fuzzily remember when he had tens. The dreams he was having now were as bad.

With a sigh, Tumbler guided his friend's helm back to looking at him. "I'm here to help you." The needles embedded in his fingertips poked out from their covers slightly, scraping against the other's cheek.

"Thank you." The words were soft, lacking energy.

Moving closer, Tumbler wrapped an arm around Ambulon's shoulders. "Come on then." He guided his friend along the path. "We'll go to my place and work this out."

Long before either of them had joined mechaforensics, they'd stumbled-half blind-into each other's lives. Those had been dark days for both of them: 'ten' days. They'd helped each other make it through that time. They'd found ways to cope, to help the other cope. Long before anyone told them it was odd, unhealthy, unnatural, they'd established their coping mechanisms. Tumbler helped Ambulon with the dreams, Ambulon helped Tumbler with the loneliness.

Neither of them told anyone what they knew about the other's past and present life.


End file.
